


The Stranger (With Blue Eyes)

by ThatAnnoyingBella



Series: Grow Old Together, We Do [3]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Bad Decisions, M/M, References to Cheating, References to Sex, implied car sex, pedophile joke, shitty situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 05:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12125844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAnnoyingBella/pseuds/ThatAnnoyingBella
Summary: Smith goes hunting, and meets someone.





	1. Meet

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry Rythian. He didn't even come up in the relationship tags, guys. I'm a monster for even implying this shit. Just before you all think I'm crazy, I've been reading MindfulWrath's (AMAZING) series which I forget the name of cause I'm bad BUT I'M ON BLACKOUT OKAY and Rythian is in it and I love her version of the character.  
> EDIT: I have no idea if MindfulWrath is a girl, no idea why I assumed. My teacher always has to yell at me for this, but I always think of writing as feminine or masculine. I'm usually wrong, but don't break my bubble, okay? IT MAKES THIS FEEL PERSONAL
> 
> So I have borrowed that sort of a Rythian character. As with all of my fanfic characters, it's probably nothing like he's like irl. In fact, I know that Rythian isn't like this, and I hardly watch him. I basically made him a shitty relatable character who is fucking done with everyone's shit.
> 
> ENJOY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rythian and Smith meet.

The night was dark, darker than the one before it and the one before that, going back at least three months. He’d been lucky - clouds rushed the moon through the sky, and the street light outside the bar had gone out. It had rained, and something about the wet shine on the road and the heaviness in the air seemed to keep people in their homes. 

Not Smith. Smith had been putting off this night for weeks. He was starting to think that he could get over the temptation, but like an alcoholic, the yearning for a blissful fog to coat his mind had become too much. By the time Trott had left for work in the morning, Smith knew that he would kill someone before the night was out. With all the shit they’d had going on, he didn’t have the energy to try controlling himself any longer.

So there he was, sitting in his shitty ex-taxi station wagon, still painted a garish yellow, a smoke hanging from his dry lips, waiting for some poor sucker to walk out of the pub sober enough to have sex, drunk enough not to question him. Not that they ever did; Smith’s charm could draw in even the sharpest-minded humans. It just made Smith feel better if he imagined that he didn’t need it to convince them.

He didn’t have to wait long. A tall, dark man pushed open the heavy pub door, still holding a bottle of beer by the neck, the blonde streak in his dark hair sticky from who-knows-what. The man stumbled a little, letting out a deep breath when the door shut behind him. 

“Oi!”

The man’s head turned sharply, and Smith sucked in a breath. This guy wasn’t human. His eyes were a vibrant blue, almost glowing, a strange thing that dulled in importance once Smith saw the expression they held - or didn’t. The eyes were empty of emotion, devoid of even the slightest care, and utterly relatable. For a moment, Smith held the man’s eyes. A human wouldn’t be able to see Smith’s eyes in the darkness of his car, but this man surely could. For some reason, Smith felt an urge, disconnected entirely from his powers, to talk to the guy.

“Get in,” Smith said, no charm in his words. His mind screamed; the yearning to kill someone was almost painful. The blue-eyed stranger wasn’t the prey that Smith wanted - needed - and he nearly groaned when a wave of fury bubbled up from deep inside his mind, urging him to just find someone else. Anyone else.

Smith watched as the man frowned, looking over his shoulder as though the dark street behind him would offer advice, then walked over to the Falcon’s passenger door. He opened the door and unceremoniously flung himself into the seat, a sigh falling from his lips, a question in his eyes. Smith looked back towards the bar, drawing deeply from his smoke and letting it out.

“Do I know you?” The man asked tiredly. His strong Swedish accent drew Smith’s attention. It was an uncommon accent in this area.

“Nah, mate,” said Smith, smiling lazily over the centre console.

“Well what do you want?”

“Well,” Smith started, flicking the ash from the end of his cigarette to the cold tarmac under his window, “You look like you could use a place to stay.” And he did. Now that Smith looked, he realised that the man was almost certainly down on his luck, if not entirely homeless. His clothes were mismatched and a size or three too big, and the wallet sticking from his back jeans pocket was tattered. His long fingers were cut and bruised, as though he’ been fighting.

“You thought wrong. I’m not a charity case.”

Smith thought for a moment, then changed the subject, pointing at a woman who’d just wobbled weakly away from the pub. “That one’s got a nice ass, huh?”

The man gave a short exhale of amusement, shaking his head. “I don’t roll that way, mate, sorry.”

Smith turned to look at the stranger sharply, “Wait, you’re gay?” Smith looked the guy up and down again, kicking himself for not noticing. If he had, he might have charmed him. It was too late, now.

The stranger laughed, then gestured at the woman. “No, I just mean that I’m not into chicks who can barely stand. Poor choice of words.” Smith looked at the woman, who had put one hand on the wall beside her, and had begun laughing into the cold night air.

“Don’t blame you. Now I see her face…” Smith said, letting his unspoken words hang in the air. For a few minutes, the only sound was the stranger’s intermittent sniffling, and that of Smith breathing out nicotine. Smith’s urge to hunt was coming back in a strong wave, and he shifted awkwardly. Then, the stranger spoke.

“My girlfriend cheated on me.”

“Oh, sorry, man. What a bitch.”

“You got that right,” the man laughed bitterly. 

“Hey,” Smith said, a spiteful smile on his own face, “If it helps, my boyfriend cheated on me, too.” Don’t think about it.

“Hey, at least now we can fuck whoever we want, hey?” Said the stranger. Smith looked at him, stilling.

“Yeah,” Smith said, quietly.

The man looked at Smith, his eyebrows raised in shock at the blatant innuendo. He gave a nervous laugh, stuttering for a moment, then fell silent. His eyes flicked to Smith’s lips, then back up to his left eye, his right eye. Smith leaned in suddenly, his lips capturing the stranger’s with ease. The brunet made a small sound deep in his throat, eyes fluttering closed, and Smith’s right hand came up to the back of the stranger’s neck, pulling his head down. 

Gingerly, a wrist rested on Smith’s broad shoulder, drawing him in. Smith’s beard scratched at the man’s tan skin in a way that must have been strange, unfamiliar, and in a blind intoxication, Smith sat up straighter, deepening the kiss. The stranger groaned softly, and pulled away. Smith opened his mouth to apologise when the stranger started talking.

“I’ve never- you know,” The man started, “Uh, been with a- a guy. So I don-”

“Hey, I’ll go slow. You tell me to stop whenever, yeah, mate?” Smith interrupted, leaning closer. Fuck Trott. His breath warmed the brunet’s upper lip, and he almost jumped in surprise when the man kissed him again, gently.

“Call me Rythian.” 

Smith grinned wickedly, leaning away from Rythian and starting the car. “You fancy a drive, Rythian?”


	2. Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith and Rythian's night in a nutshell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to continue this, but antineutrinos said they'd like to see where it would go, and I realised that I did too. So this is the stupid, sad little thing that I came up with. I really love the dynamic between these two characters.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“It’s true, I swear!”

“Rythian, you seriously want me to believe that you put itching powder in a girl’s bra? There’s no way!” Cried Smith, lifting his fingers from the steering wheel in gesture.  
“What can I say, I was a fucking asshole child, okay?” Rythian laughed, and Smith did too, reaching down for his large Coke, and not seeming to notice when his fingers brushed Rythian’s, who was stealing his chips. Rythian cleared his throat awkwardly, and sighed.

“Thanks for buying me a drink. You didn’t have to do that.”

Smith raised his eyebrows at Rythian, and smiled. “I only got you a medium.”

“Yeah, I know, but-”

“Mate, I know what you mean. It’s no trouble.” Smith turned the car onto the main road, and lights moved idly past them. Rythian shifted awkwardly.

“Is the, uh, couch still on the table?”

“Yeah, of course.” Smith looked at him in surprise. He was almost certain that Rythian would never let him help. 

“I mean, you don’t have to-” Rythian started.

“I told you it was fine,” Smith pointed out.

“Yeah, but- Look, I’m sorry, you just seem like an all right guy, and I just-”

“Hey,” Smith said softly, catching Rythian’s eye, “I told you it was fine.”

Rythian cleared his throat again, then looked back at Smith. “Where are you from, anyway? Not many Kelpies around here.”

“I’m from the moors down South,” Smith said, stretching out in his seat. “I used to live with my mother and her Mum, but shit happened and me and my boyfriend ended up here.”

Rythian was silent for a moment. “Is this the same boyfriend who cheated on you?” Then he caught Smith’s flinch and realised his mistake. “Hey, I’m sorry, that was-”

“No,” said Smith. “You’re right, it was the same guy. I met him and begged him to come to the city with me. He never liked it, but he tried to, for me. Things were okay when we got here. You know the 70’s; inflation was through the roof, but nobody seemed to care.”

“The 70’s?” Rythian echoed, surprised. He stole another one of Smith’s chips, past bantering about it by this point. “So, what, you came here like, 15 years ago?”

“Almost 20, now,” Smith corrected. There was a pause, and then Smith gave a short laugh. “We turned up on a night just like tonight - dark and wet, all the signs glowing and our hands sticking out the windows. We rolled up, and Trott got a job, and it all seemed so great. I never saw him as happy as he was that night. We unlocked the new flat and walked in and he just said, ‘It’s perfect, Smith.’ We didn’t spend many nights in it. We were all flashy cars and he had his stupid golden pants. Out on the town was the norm for us.”

“It sounds fun,” Rythian said. He wished he’d been there.

“It was. I don’t know when that all changed.”

 

Smith and Rythian spent the next ten minutes driving to Smith’s house. Rythian didn’t ask for a shower, or for Smith to put his clothes in the wash and hand him a pair of soft track pants and a big burgundy shirt, but Rythian didn’t protest, and Smith didn’t ask why. Soon, they were sitting on Smith’s couch, drinking poorly made mixtures of strong spirits and cheap knock-off brand soft drinks.

The feeling of Trott’s presence hung in the air, so thick it was as if the faceless man was standing behind Rythian, watching him. There was the way Smith spoke, as if trying not to wake someone, the way books about things he was sure Smith didn’t care about lay quietly, unassumingly, on the glass coffee table, where there, too, were signs of Smith’s boyfriend. Little things, like the two white coasters, and the way the TV remote was placed perfectly straight along the edge of the table. Rythian wondered what he’d gotten himself into.

But Smith was welcoming. He laughed in the way of a man living without having to worry about money too much, but the way of someone who knew what it was to struggle, knew not to take life too seriously. Rythian had always liked truck drivers and construction workers, because they laughed like that. They just didn’t care about the stupid shit. They knew that there were more important things in life. He wondered what Smith did.

“So what do you do for a living?” Perhaps he shouldn’t pry; he didn’t plan to intrude on this man’s life too much. It would be wise to keep a distance.

“I help out at the mechanic’s place down the road. I don’t do much except the heavy lifting, but I like the cars,” Smith said. He took a long swig of his drink, smiling in his lazy way, “What do you do?”

“I work for a housing company, travel around a bit, checking out the areas.” The lie slipped easily from Rythian. 

“What,” joked Smith, “You go looking for creepy dudes for them or something?”

“Sounds about right,” Rythian smiled. He was certain that Smith didn’t believe him, and was grateful that he didn’t mention it.

“What are you going to tell them this time?”

“I guess I’ll have to tell them about the weirdo sitting in his car outside of the pub, looking at girl’s asses,” said Rythian, giving a genuine laugh in the strange offhand way of someone who was enjoying themselves - in a way he hadn’t in a while.

“Oi! You’re the one who got into the car! Haven’t you ever heard of stranger-danger?” Smith defended himself, smiling the whole time.

“You didn’t look very scary, and you didn’t ask me for candy.”

“Ask you for candy?” Smith echoed, confused.

“Isn’t that what you do when you’re trying to catch little girls?” Rythian asked.

“Usually you offer them your free candy, mate,” Smith said, “Besides, you don’t look like a little girl to me.”

“You knew what I meant,” Rythian said, taking a big swig of his drink. It wasn’t very good, but it was very alcoholic, and right now, that’s what he needed.

“You know,” Smith said, leaning closer,“If I was a pedophile, you’d be the little girl that I’d offer free candy.”

Rythian sputtered, choking on his drink incredulously. “Is that your best pick-up line?”

“It sounded sexier in my head,” admitted Smith.  
“You can’t say shit like that!” Rythian laughed, putting his drink down.

“Why not?”

“Because it makes you sound creepy as fuck.”

“But is it working for you?” Smith wiggled his eyebrows.

Rythian shook his head, a smile glued to his face. He hadn’t felt his carefree in years. Smith was leaning forward again, his smile fading, his lips parting smoothly. The kiss was soft and gentle, passionate. Rythian pulled away after a few moments, sighing.

“I’m not Trott.”

“I know,” said Smith, sadly.

“Maybe instead of trying to forget him, you should try to work things out.” Rythian gestured to the couch cushion, which read ‘Sexy Beast.’ “You guys have obviously been together for ages.”

Smith turned away, gulping at his drink again. “I fucked up.”

“And he cheated on you.”

Smith sighed, and when Rythian saw his sad eyes, he knew they’d never meet again. Not after tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. I was considering writing a full length UMY - Perhaps the situation with Smith and Trott could be it, and this could just be a little insight into what happened with Smith one night or another. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Despite seeming out of place, this little scene (and more *eyebrows*) happens in my headcanon. I'm working on some later scenes. WRITE A FULL PIECE, BRAIIN!!!  
> Let me know what you thought, I've had this one sitting for a while :)


End file.
